Rose Petals in a Bowl
by A Bit Closer Johnny
Summary: Elizabeth Turner's diary...a personal view of her world. Treasured petals escape the confines of the rosebush, finding their way to a softly flowing pool of ardour.
1. My Love

**Rose Petals in a Bowl:**

**My Love**

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Have you ever been with a man who makes your heart leap for joy?

Have you ever been with a man who makes you shudder when your name escapes his lips?

Have you ever been with a man who quenches your every desire, yet at the same time, makes you thirst for more?

Have you ever been with a man who breathes life into you—gives you life? Gives you what life is worth living for?

As I gaze at the pretty gold band round my finger (which such a man crafted) the answer to all of these questions is: yes. Yes! How dost one help themselves from screaming this word from the rooftops when one is in such an amorous state, as I am…?

Each day I am engaged in the reminiscence of my auspicious fate—to be married to a man who fulfills all of a woman's aspirations.

Even now, while I cannot help but admire the delicate ring on my opposite hand, I vividly recall the devotion in his countenance as he slipped the circle of unity onto my finger; in a moment when we both were filled with apprehension against passion. Such a perfect fit. So beautiful. And there it has stayed, and will stay for eternity.

I promise him that with every rising sun, by a simple meeting of eyes; a smile; a touch. He knows me so—my thoughts, my gestures—now and again I feel so exposed, as if I am an open book, and he can peer down into my very soul. Because of this, however, I know I am forever safe and sound in his presence.

Nevertheless, I comprehend with a smirk, I know him too. I know by the certain gleam in his eyes what he is feeling; what he is thinking.

But it's his hands that I know best. I can tell, by just glimpsing at, and touching them, how arduously he toils to achieve his vision of happiness. And with such rough though gentle hands he guides me, shows me, and tells me how he loves me.

I secretly watch him in the morning, so I know his routine—how he runs his hand through his dark, curly locks before putting on his feather-topped hat (the hat which I adore); how he sits on the edge of the bed as he laces his boots, and finally, the way he leans casually against the doorpost as he bids me farewell. I walk him to the door, and, out of habit, we hold hands, my fingers entwining so comfortably and perfectly into his. And then we kiss—a gentle pressing together of lips that expresses fondness and reassurance.

I busy myself with errands while he is away, but I am always home before him, and I await his return, eager to hear the sound of his voice as I set the table and to feel his touch as he takes me in his arms.

It cannot be expressed to its full value in words the feeling which overcomes the spirit as we embrace. Our bodies fit like a glove; match together like pieces of a puzzle. It is the feeling of completeness which compels me to want to remain in his arms. It is his caresses that soothe me and moreover, stir my senses.

Worse still, however, is his voice that utters soft whisperings in my ears. With an inward sigh, I reflect on how well I know this part of him as well. A voice overflowing with sensuality, excitement, sincerity, and drollery. No other sound such as the beckoning sound of my name—_Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth..._—could be so sweet coming from deep inside of him; woven with meaning and urgency. It comes even sweeter because he says it so often—it brings him pleasure to let my name float off his tongue, and brings me satisfied relief (I remember how often he would formally address me, muttering, in an unconfident manner, "_Miss Swann"_ and how I was driven positively mad…)

I wonder how he feels as I call out to him, my voice soft and impassioned. I crave for him to realize how it makes me feel when I speak his name. I say it to myself at this moment, and blanket of warmth surrounds my body. _Will. _I can't help but say it again as I spill forth these intimate thoughts of my best friend, my husband, my lover.

With quill to parchment, I could let my hand flow freely; my personal sentiments leaking out onto page after page…I could write a novel expressing how blissful we are, our little family, but that would reveal far too much. What I further care to divulge, I shall divulge to William. And I must conclude this memoir, as I blow out the nearby candle, for I hear the door close, and the clunking of boots, and my heart is by now soaring as I prepare to meet my love.

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	2. Freckles or Kisses

Rose Petals in a Bowl:

Freckles or Kisses

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How I look forward to each day—something new and sparkling with excitement never ceases to happen in my world. _Our _world. An event that sends a tingle through my fingertips and puts a smile on my face.

Firstly, I must admit how I positively care not for the tiny skin discolorations called by some, freckles, by others, beauty spots, and I'm certain there are countless other names for such marks. I was bestowed with an abundance of the marks when I was but a little girl—brown little dots covering my face and arms. How I loathed them, though still thought it an annoyance when my maid constantly pressed me to wear a bonnet when out of doors. Being the 'fortunate girl that I am' and 'blessed with my mother's good genes' as said maid would delicately put it, it turned out that as I became of age, the marks seemed to magically disappear, and what respite spread over me as I peered into the looking glass of mornings, noticing my clear, flawless skin. And I so believed it would stay that way.

And ever so delicately, dear Estrella would continue to admonish me whenever I whimsically ran out into the sunlight, my face and arms uncovered, and unprotected.

Of course Estrella never did have a way of putting things delicately, and not in the least, subtly, but that brings on a whole other subject.

To memory, the single instance during which her indelicacy brought me rewards was when, as I remember so well, she remarked 'Will Turner—he's a fine man too' and not bothering to play down the suggestiveness in her tone. Which brings about another subject which henceforth will be dealt with and the point of my ramblings shall be proven.

Well, after years of tuning out my dear maid's advice, I now seem to pay for my recklessness.

I notice of late, as I study myself as I dress, that I am mysteriously acquiring more and more of these detestable, unwanted marks everyday—a sprinkle across my nose, a splash on my arm, even a scattering over my collarbone, which is not normally exposed to the sunlight.

I rose early, as day broke over the horizon, and, without any thought, went to the open window, raising my visage to the sun, letting the ocean's breeze fill my senses and blow through my thin, muslin robe. Only then, as I felt the warm rays upon my skin, did I realize that this nearly daily ritual of mine must be the cause of these blemishes! After this realization forthwith struck me, I hurried to the vanity, anxiously looking at my reflection through a mirror, and studied my face again—tan, which mattered not, and which I secretly fancied—but there they were, the bloody culprits, huddled in a small group on the bridge of my nose. As I studied further I even noticed ones, very faint, beginning to appear on my once-unblemished forehead.

Alright; my vanity may get the best of me, but by this time, I was rather frantic, and rather wishing that I could change my frivolous, childlike behaviour of the past, and that I had listened to Estrella's delicate, subtle hints.

A sliver of shock rippled through me and a blush formed upon my cheeks as I suddenly saw, through the looking glass, my husband's smiling face as he stood by the doorway. I knew not how long he had been there—I must appear silly to him, murmuring to myself, and rubbing at my face, which was now a lovely shade of crimson.

Having noticed that I had finally acknowledged his presence, he came to me, placing his hands gently on my shoulders. I immediately relaxed, as I always do in his propinquity, though the embarrassment still remained.

Without a word, and the comforting smile still playing across his lips, he gathered my tousled locks and eased his fingers through them. I couldn't help but return the smile as the blush on my cheeks turned into a glow of radiance. How wonderful it felt to have his hands play through my hair, I furtively thought, and closed my eyes for a moment, when he suddenly moved my smoothed tresses over my right shoulder. His hand brushed against my back; my spine; and through the mirror we kept our eyes locked as he pressed those smiling, reassuring lips onto my bare shoulder.

I was aware of a sigh escaping me; a sigh that was instantly drawn back in as he whispered, nigh inaudibly into my ear, "They're beautiful."

I was left not only speechless but breathless as he came round to face me, a thoughtful look in his so expressive eyes, and he reached forward his hand to sweep his fingertips across my collarbone; rub his thumb over my cheeks.

I swallow as a breath catches in my throat and I know what he is speaking of. His movements, his words, will forever stay in my heart.

He brought his face down to mine and my head was nearly spinning as I became lost in his gaze. He swiftly flitted his hand across my cheek again, and as he drew the hand back, I noticed that it was wet with my tears, though that I had spilt any, I had not realized.

'_You are my beautiful free spirit, kissed by the sun that strives to love you as I do.'_

His words….his voice….a hand desperately pressed against my chest is my only remedy as I sit alone, now longing to have this man sent from heaven near me…speaking to me, and how I yearn to reassure him furthermore.

'_Will…' _was my only whisper in response, a whisper which I trust he understands as all of the million things I had wanted to say in that moment…but were all said in that single whisper.

A tingle ran through my body, all the way through the tips of my fingers as he kissed me soundly, and I felt him murmur against my smiling mouth that he was envious that the sun should acquire all of my attentions.

Now as I dress, I do not study myself reprovingly, but rather smile as my eyes scan my skin, Will's words playing in my head.

My dear husband takes the initiative to study my skin for me, always with an envious glint in his eyes as he whispers to me of his jealousies—that the sun is allowed to kiss me during the day—and he attempts to replace these kisses with his own.

So whether or not they be called freckles, beauty marks, spots, or any other term, my love and I refer to them as sun kisses.


	3. Dance of Mischief

Rose Petals in a Bowl:

Dance of Mischief

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Everyone knows a tad bit of mischief will come to no harm; that a surprise or two will cause only laughter instead of vexation. At least this was my train of thought one instance…

Mischief, merely the word itself, jogs my memory to a time when Will and I were children: we would secretly sneak to the Bakery, in an attempt to filch sweets and all sorts of other delectable concoctions. Of course I believed that we never once got caught, and I prided myself on my cleverness. This was short-lived however, for after sneaking out for some time, upon returning home, Estrella would grab my hands, which happened to be dirtied with either crumbs or icing from whatever I had naughtily indulged myself in. Oh, how I learned never to be clever again! And I wasn't—I was obedient and I trained myself to control my 'spicy temper', so that after only several times of being caught, and subsequently, being punished for my wicked behaviour, I stopped sneaking about altogether.

I really haven't the faintest idea how Will got off so easily. It baffles me, and I believe he knew so, though he never cared to inform me how he managed to slip away after our escapades.

So, it was just when I was thinking of 'mischief'; the thought of that childhood event, with one eyebrow raised—my envy resurfacing at the fact that Will got off scot-free, when I realized that it had been years since I had committed something truly mischievous. And now, as a woman, I've no reason to be punished. So 'twas my logic.

I lay in bed as William readied himself for work, pretending to have my eyes closed out of sleepiness. I laugh to myself at the notion that he hasn't yet realized how closely I watch him of mornings.

He bid me farewell with a kiss, firm yet soft, to my cheek and muttered that he had a demanding day ahead of him. As he administered the kiss, I failed to resist in raising my hand, and I remember the soft feel of his untied dark locks.

When the sound of his boots upon the wooden floors faded and the door shut with a 'click', I dashed from the covers, and with a grin overplaying my features, for the mischievous story still swirled in my thoughts, I began to sift through our wardrobe.

Having none of those busywork errands to keep myself occupied whilst my husband toiled away, I decided upon something more entertaining, and certainly, more worthwhile, to spend my time in doing.

Passing over the horrid corsets with disgust, I came across a ruffled, sea-blue blouse, which was somewhat larger than my size, but would work splendidly to my cause.

I managed to scrounge up a pair of cropped black slacks, which I tightened with a belt, and topped off the ensemble with laced black boots.

As I approved of myself through the looking glass, a laugh I cried out, thinking of the reactions I would receive—_Elizabeth Swann clad in men's attire!_

With that in mind, I pulled my long tresses back into a braid, and decided I appeared un-ladylike enough to go out in public without the worry of being pestered.

Feeling particularly daring and with an air of exhilaration about me, I flounced out of doors into the steadily busying streets, and with my lashes cast down, so as to not draw attention to myself, I hurried onwards until my eyes met a sign which was engraved with '_Turner Blacksmith & Jeweller Co_.'

I opened the door, which rang as I did so, but not before taking a sly look about my surroundings. My ears were immediately preyed to the sounds of drilling, welding and hammering, and I passed my hand over my eyes, wondering how these workmen could survive the sweltering heat.

On the very other side of the room, I found whom I had ventured for. There he was, standing at the counter, apparently doing some sort of paperwork. I slipped past the workers disregarded, keeping my back pressed against the wall, until I stopped just short of a few feet away from him. His back was towards me, but I was pleased, for that was my desired position.

I am not able to conceal my pride regarding his accomplishments—owning both a Blacksmith's and Jeweller's. Such eminence he now has as a result of his affluence.

I stepped quietly towards him; so close that I felt the warmth emanating from his body, but not close enough to touch him.

'_Sir, have you a moment of free time?' _I asked, biting back the grin and subsequent laugh that threatened to reveal me.

He muttered a phrase which was indiscernible, or perhaps I was concentrating far too much on his actions, before he turned round, and a look of pure shock lighted in his eyes as he gasped my name.

I am sure my eyes must have been dancing in merriment, for his look of astonishment disappeared into one that was taunting.

I focused solely on him; his dashing appearance nearly throwing me off track.

'_What can I do for you, Mrs. Turner?'_

I smiled, and reached forward to take his hand, eager to have his attentions.

'_Because you know I've so much work to do'_

I heard him softly mutter these words, but they were left unheeded as I swept my hand across my forehead, and replied,

'_Please just come with me—I can't stand this unbearable heat'_

I admit my words to be a ploy in order to steal him away (How, in the past, I would be scolded for such impishness)—regardless, the high temperature of the room was quite unpleasant; drops of perspiration shown themselves upon Will's forehead, and I could feel my blouse sticking to my back.

Will let out a sigh, muttering his protestations, which I paid no attention to, and thereupon led him through to the back door and into the shed of the shop, where finished weaponry were stored.

Ah; I turned heel towards him, relieved that we were finally left to ourselves, and he lifted the corner of his mouth into a smile.

'_To what may I owe this encounter, Elizabeth?'_ he asked. The glint in his eyes made it clear that my surprise visit had piqued his interest.

Innocently, I lifted my eyes to meet his, and drew a little closer, and softly, I requested a dance.

He reached out to take my hands, and with a fanciful edge to his voice, murmured to me,

'_Oh, so it is a dance you covet?'_

Tiny sparks of mischief, which progressively grew into explosive sparks, ignited throughout my body, and with a click of my tongue against my teeth, I responded,

'_At the point of a sword'_

Will lifted his eyebrows in mystification, but recognition soon flooded over his countenance. How often we had parried in the years preceding our matrimony; all of Will's idea, of course, as a means to ensure that I was able to defend myself.

So, as a way to keep our liaison in fencing under wraps, we resourcefully deemed our training as "dance lessons."

I deftly drew a sword from its sheath round my waist; a sword Will had personally fashioned for my use.

Satisfaction filled me as a playful spark flickered through his eyes, and he drew his own blade.

'_I've been looking forward to our dance again, Mrs. Turner'_ he murmured as we leisurely circled, he keeping his eyes locked with mine.

I felt the blood course excitedly through my veins—oh, if he was aware of his own seductive powers…!

With a flash of daring, I made the first move, swinging my arm delicately; a blow which Mr. Turner met with equal grace and agility.

And so our dance began: circling, circling; the excitement continuing to build up inside of me to the point of exhaustion as our blades clashed together. The dance was mesmerizing—through our years of training, my body had adapted to the strenuous movements, and now my muscles had grown accustomed to the extra exertion.

With our heavily panting breath, and perspiration practically drenching our skin, we slowed, and I relaxed, letting down my guard as Will lowered his sword.

He licked his lips and stepping closer, he praised,

'_With what grace you perform the dance, my dear'_

I looked up at him; one hand resting on my hip, the other still holding the sword at mid-level and my breath released in gasps, when, of a sudden, I felt myself tilt backwards, and no sooner, I had fallen back into a pile of dirt and hay.

I gasped, open-mouthed, back up at him; he had his sword pointed at me, and to top off the act, a malicious smile charming his features.

'_I won', _he said simply, sheathing his sword—a regrettable move.

'_You did not, you cheat',_ I exclaimed in indignation as I scrambled to my feet, unwillingly to have been unfairly defeated.

'_Well, how might we settle this, then?'_ he asked. I was partially annoyed at the fact that his enjoyment at this was great—his eyes were completely giving him away.

Feeling mischievous once again, I sauntered over to him, and placing my hands upon his chest, I whispered, _'Perhaps by admitting that you're wrong'_

With a forceful shove, I landed him on his back, which emitted a cloud of dust swirling into the air.

He gave me a bit of a cross look, but the devilish smile could not be kept hidden.

I smiled back—one of deep gratification—as I brushed the dirt (or at least, endeavored to do so) from my face and dusted my hands on my breeches.

A tad tentatively, I reached out my hand for Will to take, which he did, and we both stood, facing each other—both looking, as a matter of fact, like naughty children who had been tousling in a game of snap.

'_So, Mr. Turner', _I said, smiling at my cleverness as I did when I was a little girl. _'Are we square?'_

He seemed to ponder for a moment, and then drew me close, so that I felt his breath against mine, and the little sparks began to go off again.

'_We're square' _he murmured, as my heart was hopefully racing, when he abruptly pulled away and began cleaning the dust from his face with a handkerchief.

Oh, how I just wanted to scream in vexation! Of all the things that man does to me…

I called out his name in ire as he approached the door, and he glanced back at me, his dark eyes piercing through mine.

'_As I said, I've work to finish, so you'd better get home before I change my mind_ '

I cocked an eyebrow, still irritated. Without another word, he walked out, back into the shop, leaving me standing alone in the shed.

Utterly filled with aggravation, I too went to the door and into the shop; not bothering to catch his eye as I walked past him and the remaining workers, and entered the streets. I was surprised that it was already late into the afternoon.

_Mischief, indeed' _I was thinking angrily—mostly angry that my husband was better at my own game than I was. _'Just like when we were children' _was my added thought.

I must not have noticed where I was going, for before I knew it, I had already reached the house, and with a tired sigh, opened the door, to which I was most viciously assaulted!

The attack upon my lips by whose lips I knew so well was most fervent, as was the foray against my rib cage as a pair of deft, blacksmith hands weaved themselves in caressing movements.

As I pushed away from him—that wicked blacksmith, looking so roguish at that moment—I was desperately clutching my hands to my abdomen in my fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Noticing my physical appearance in the mirror which hangs by the fireplace, my mirth only increased—dirt was smudged all over my face; it was covering my arms and hands—oh, what an absolute mess I looked!

But that blacksmith, my mischief-maker in crime, gathered me in his arms, and whispered words I'll not forget,

'_Missie, you're very clever at mischief, but you can't beat a pirate'_

I was immediately transported back to when Will and I were children, during the time of our sweet-filching, and during the time when we were playing pirates. It was those exact words said then, that he said now.

'_Oh, Will_', I breathed, completely touched, and as we shared a kiss, I thinking him the most handsome man in the world despite the dirt—it was only us two, alive in our dance of mischief.

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**A/N**: This will be my last update for a while since school is starting. From now on, I'll be posting on weekends _only_, if that.


	4. Gifted Massage

Rose Petals in a Bowl:

Gifted Massage

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Have ever one's muscles and bones ached so terribly for reasons unknown at the conclusion of a day? Such pains that emit a groan from oneself when making the slightest motion? And grimaces of displeasure when stretching and rubbing the areas of discomfort offer no solace?

Such botherations have wrecked mine body on various occasions to the point where I was consumed with impatience—anticipating nightfall when all is silent; when the sensitive body collides with a cushion and welcomes only the therapeutic touch…

How oft and again I think and talk of hands—hands which enthrall me; hands so talented, they be soft and rough simultaneously; hands which never fail to work their magic upon my skin.

It is such hands that have surprised me; such hands one never desires to lose contact with.

I remember the first evening of this kind; the kind filled with my silent grievances as I endured the stiffness in my back with a smile to my husband as he returned from the shop.

How I acquired these aches in the first place, I haven't a clear indication. Perhaps it is a consequence of my lifting things too heavy for my own good, or it may have a tie-in to my "dance lessons" (that is, swordplay) which grow more frequent with the time.

Regardless, I conducted myself as cheerful as I was able while we supped, but I was impractical in thinking that I could deceive the person who knew me better.

William must have certainly picked up on my distress (however unapparent I tried to make it) for he insisted on clearing the table, urging me to wait for him in our room.

I sigh as I think of him, and am still filled with amazement at how well he _does _know me. I do try to be obscure, yes, but to him, I know I will always be translucent.

I half-heartedly agreed, not wanting him to have to do the chore, but I obeyed his insistences.

When I reached the room, a sigh escaped me as I relaxed my sore shoulders—surely they were a mixed product of my 2-day old fencing practice and the carrying of a watermelon I had procured at the marketplace earlier that day. I reproved myself for doing something so frivolous—but that watermelon had been tempting me from a mile away and I just couldn't have passed up the opportunity. Ah yes—my tender shoulders blades were a consequence of my craving to bite into a luscious fruit. Was it worth it?

I passed my tongue over my lips at the contemplation, but my mind was in just as beleaguered a state as my muscles, so I dismissed the question and instead removed my garments to slip into more comfortable sleeping attire.

As I rummaged through the drawers, I then realized my sudden tiredness, though it was scarcely past eight o'clock. This was most likely the reason why I gave up looking for a comfortable chemise, and instead settled for one of Will's white cotton shirts.

The comforts his clothes offer are much greater than the comforts my own fitted gowns would offer me—the feeling of the loose material; knowing that he had worn the shirt just fills me with vast tranquility.

I smile—Will daren't know these little secrets I disclose to these worn pages.

I turned as Will entered the room, watching him as he shed himself of his coat, which he laid across the back of the chair in the corner. As I turned back to the mirror at the vanity, running my fingers through my hair, Will brushed passed me on his way to the wardrobe, stripping himself of his shirt on the way.

I drew my eyes back towards him (How could I not?) and kept my gaze on him as he returned.

'_You look a bit tired, love. You alright?' _he asked. I could sense his eyes peering past my layers, as they have a natural gift of doing, and I felt myself susceptible to him.

'_Just a little'_, I responded and turned back to face him—lounging back against the pillows, dressed in only his cropped trousers.

'_Why don't we retire early tonight?'_ he suggested gently.

My eyes averted to the bed, which appeared rather inviting, so instinctively, my only answer to the question would be "yes", without hesitation.

So it was, and I blew out all the candles save for the one on Will's side, which he extinguished himself, and climbed into bed beside him, not even thinking to suppress the groan which I uttered as my side rubbed against the mattress.

'_Elizabeth…'_ I heard him softly whisper, and my eyelashes fluttered in the darkness as I felt the brush of his fingers upon my spine through the material of the shirt.

He moved his hands slowly, traveling with gentle presses up and down the length of my back, relaxing my muscles. I let out a deep breath, amazed at the powers of his wonderful blacksmith hands as they massaged—his fingers kneading firmly against my ribcage; thumbs rotating upon my shoulder blades.

He paused as he reached the end of my spine, causing me to draw in a quick, audible breath.

'_Am I hurting you?'_ he asked, concern filling his voice.

I let out my breath, snapping my eyes open, my heart beating rapidly.

'_No' _I could barely whisper. _'Don't stop.'_

I closed my eyes again—dying to feel his magic touch against my bare skin rather than over the shirt.

I sighed, my heartbeat further quickening at my appeasement as his hands leisurely, tantalizing crept under the garment and he began again his marvelous treatment.

What soothing caresses which cooled my warm skin; his hands pushing up the camise farther and farther until I could stand the barrier no longer, and rid my body of it, casting the impediment to the floor.

I subtly was conscious of the gap between us closing as he drew nearer, his fondles growing seemingly more fervent.

Oh—heavens! How such a blessed fate hath been bestowed upon me, I yet wonder—a fate fraught with the showering of affections by a man of such divinity…in every sense of the word.

Suchlike thoughts ran amok through my head, thoughts that turned into fragments of dizzying ecstasy at the feel of his breath ghosting the back of my neck.

'_Oh God, Will….'_ I once or twice out of I haven't an idea how many times caught myself muttering as he traced lightly with his lips the areas he had massaged.

I'll not fail to remember this first evening of William Turner's healing—how it proved to me that whilst I imagined that I knew so well his hands, in reality, I hardly knew them at all; certainly I had no understanding of the talents they clandestinely possessed.

He came to wrap his arms about me, draped across my waistline, gently kissing the surface of tingling shoulders as I nestled against him.

Somehow, I managed to extricate myself, just for a moment, as I met his lips with my own.

An overwhelming sensation envelops me still as I reflect on that moment as my gratitude to him was whispered.

Needless to say, I felt absolutely rejuvenated the following morning and completely deemed it my obligation to bequeath thanks upon my love—thanks which he accepted with an affectionate smirk upon his lips.

I have always wondered about the sensation I receive at the touch of his hand—the sensation I noticed first when he had bandaged my palm after my blood had been uselessly spilt into the chest of Aztec gold.

The only thing I am certain of is that I do not ever want him stop.

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yay--I managed to update! Three-day weekends are very much appreciated :) Hopefully I'll be able to get in another chapt on Sat.


	5. Ladylike

Rose Petals in a Bowl:

Ladylike

* * *

Ladylike: Characteristic of a lady; well-bred; appropriate for or becoming to a lady; unduly sensitive to matters of propriety or decorum.

So the definition states. Propriety, decorum—such words dance and pound unremittingly through my mind. My father's scathing utterances during childhood and continuing on until my adolescence. How the remembrance of the day of Captain Norrington's promotion lingers in my mind far more tauntingly than the remembrances of other occasions whence I was scolded for not being "ladylike". And the reason being is because that was the day I had started to become unladylike. That was the starting point.

'…_I had a dream about you last night.'_

'_About…me?'_

'_Elizabeth is that entirely proper for you to…'_

Oh, Father's interjection dost loiter in the depths of my thoughts only as torment—as a constant reminder of my incivility.

'_At least the boy has a sense of propriety…'_

Only the heart knows how those words, filled with disgust at my behaviour; the scornful glint in his eye as if he were speaking to filth…only the heart knows how much those words cut into my soul; how it pained me to comprehend that I was a disgrace as the Governor's daughter.

How Father must have despised me; my free spirited ways, my dissatisfaction at things he did for me…mainly the displeasure I implied when London's fashion was offered to me.

I am truly apologetic for the ungratefulness towards my Father over the years…and now I've no way to entreat forgiveness, for I know not what to express. My remorse for my frivolous actions; my slip of tongue; my audacity? Who would I be then, without my sauciness, my faults; my uncouth parlance?

I confronted upon my husband the question of my being unladylike.

_At least the boy has a sense of propriety!_

Instead of a hinting undertone, Father's voice booms loudly through my brain, tauntingly—

_At least that blacksmith boy is good for something—maybe he'll show you some manners, you naughty girl! _

'_I do hope you demonstrate a little more decorum in front of Commodore Norrington…After all, it is through his efforts that Port Royal has become at all civilized…'_

Decorum, decorum, decorum!

_Stop behaving as if you were a common wench, Elizabeth. Even that lowly blacksmith is capable of more manners than yourself, and that speaks volumes!_

With my breath rapid and my head spinning, filled with the admonishments which are ceaselessly a torture, I jumped through my skin at the touch of a hand. A hand that would certainly not want to touch me—filth, disgust, lowliness…

I recollect the feeling of emptiness that had gathered in my breast, complete emptiness…Oh how it frightened me! Such a horrible feeling that settled into the profundity of my soul—a feeling of worthlessness, of not belonging to anything, anyone.

My insides were writhing; I was peering through water—a film of wetness over my eyes as if I were underwater, and I could not escape, and the hand that touched me, those hands, would not let up, until I felt finally the sharp sting of breath in my chest—

"_Elizabeth."_

Only then did I become conscious of the fact that I was in the arms of my husband, his shirt sodden from my lamentations.

And then the emptiness began to evanesce as love and belonging, the emotions which emanated from his protective embrace, replaced the worthlessness which had darkened my perspective.

Oh, I love him, I love him, I love him…_I love you, Will_…for all that he has endured in his matrimony to me. How he held me as I wept, encouraging me to release my bitterness that I had withheld.

With wretchedness, I owned up to the reality that I was not a lady.

"_What have I done! My speech is unrefined, my actions bold, my outer-garments not the finest fashion, my under-garments inappropriate, my tastes in life skewed…"_

Surprise took hold of me as Will's strong hands shook me, an expression of hurt and anger upon his face.

"_No, Miss Swann—"_

He said these words, my name, harshly; I, taken aback at his austerity.

"_Your speech is not empty with words that mean nothing, words that only fill space and nothing more; you do not sit idly as life passes you by until you have accomplished nothing of value as you lie on your deathbed; you are not ill and restricted by gaudy fashions; you are not suffering from afflictions of broken ribs and cough; and you do not spend your time engaged in gossip and lessons in proper etiquette._

"_That is not the person I married._

_The person I married is a woman—stronger and more beautiful than any lady could ever be."_

I had quieted—I will remember these words spoken from the only person solid in my life, forever. He caressed my face with his hand, the hand that had before touched me, ever so gently, and flinch, I did not.

I whispered penitence, but he would not hear of it, and silenced me.

"_Why would I want to marry a person who is lifeless; who merely fills vacant room?_

_A person who would never fulfill my desires….Elizabeth"_

I was able to breath again when he said my name; Elizabeth, not Miss Swann. Never Miss Swann again.

"_Your words mean everything to me—they are healing medicine to an ailing soul; you have lived—made companions, traveled the world; you are free—free to run, free to breath, free to live, and free to love. _

"_Would I wish for any less than that in the woman I chose to marry?"_

I felt as if I was holding onto him for eternity, never willing to release myself from his hold, as I recognized that all he had said was true. He never ceases to make me see the light in an abyss of darkness; to let me know how I am loved and why I am loved.

And oh God, do I love him. He has made me see that I am not ladylike, not a lady—I am the embodiment of a woman. Propriety, decorum—words that drift to the wind, whereas before they had invaded my good memories.

Love replaces the anger; William Turner replaces my doubts and my fears. Will fills my heart and soul, and I know I fill his as he reassures me through his eyes, his kisses, and his movements which exude perfect devotion. I am safe and wanted, and forever will be.


	6. Flowering Friendship

Rose Petals in a Bowl:

Flowering Friendship

A/N: I finally submit a chapter after having not written for ages, yes! I hope this is satisfying, as I composed this when a brief idea suddenly struck me this afternoon.

* * *

He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me…! Petal after petal until the heart-wrenching answer. Certainly, one calls to remember this puerile diversion of adolescent females once it comes into their heads that they have acquired an attraction for someone of the opposite gender. So ashamed am I, and I utterly redden to confess that I was indeed one of such females. Oh, how I desire to pinch myself to cease these bodily shudders and to bite my lips—yet I know they will never stop, as the answer was true back then, just as it is true now.

According to one of dear Estrella's late-evening yarns (yarns which she told of oft when sleep failed to envelop me) the very best relationships between a man and a woman are those that start as friendships and blossom into love. Of course, at the ripe ages of twelve and thirteen, I giggled at such stories, but as the thirteen years drew to a close, my thoughts wandered towards my companion, Will. Blushing furiously in my candle-lit bedroom after I was supposed to be asleep, and hugging my pillow to my breast, I would think of Estrella's words…and think of Will.

Gratitude to Estrella, as each day passed, whenever I spoke to William, whenever I lingered in his presence, I underwent quite peculiar symptoms. I was surprised and rather elated to discover that my knees grew weak when his eyes—those splendid, unfathomable eyes—met mine; my heart began to quicken just at the sight of him; I knew no words to say when I approached him, so overcome was I just by _him, _all of him.

After several torturous days of this (at least on my part; I now wonder if he had noticed my change in behaviour from headstrong playmate to giddy damsel) one late afternoon, I escaped to the garden. Caring not that my knees would become dirtied, I knelt down into the grass and picked a daisy, all yellow and white with six perfect petals and seeming to smile at me as the sun beat down upon us both. With a shaken sigh, I fingered the soft, thin whiteness before plucking it, and I was sure the flower let out a cry of pain, although it must have been a bird. Yet this seeming cry gave me a start, and I was suddenly fearful that this was a naughty thing I was doing, and therefore, I shouldn't be doing it. But Estrella's words and William began ruling my thoughts again, and with, I am sure, a foolish grin on my face, I whispered the incantation, and a petal, then another was plucked until all but one lay on the ground. With the last petal came …yes—he loves me.

Oh, with such embarrassment I blush as I recount my initial feelings for the man I would soon be able to call my own! Such is how I realize the entire irony of it all, and such is how I came to believe in fate and destiny.

How unwilling I was to see him the following day; I believe I even hid away from him. Until, of course, Estrella located me in the closet, demanded I explain myself, and then forced me to confront William, or at least exchange a few words with him. I was indeed infuriated with Estrella for the occurrences thereafter.

Reluctantly, I meandered out of the drawing room, and without paying attention to where I was going, knocked right into poor Will at the foot of the stairs. With his stammering apologies and mutterings of _'Miss Swann…', _I knew not how to respond, especially after my past few days. All I could bring myself to utter was, _'Oh, William', _sounding rather like a character out of Shakespeare, and then I did the unspeakable—I kissed him right on the lips. All I could do then, upon seeing the shocked look on Will's face, was turn a fire-blazoned red and run into the sitting room, where I remained for quite a while until darling Estrella again found me (as she was aware of all my hiding places) and comforted me in her motherly ways.

Sooner than expected, all was forgotten, especially with the sudden attentions from the soon-to-be-Commodore Norrington—an upstanding man who I had known since early childhood.

At least I forced myself to believe that all was forgotten. And that was the reason I was unable to resist caring for William. And now I am certain that for the years after my kiss, he remembered and loved me unconditionally, unremittingly in return.

As our wedding day approached, and sleep failed to envelop me, I listened to, not a yarn, but the sage of advice of Estrella, who has always been so patient and dear to me. With the fire gently roaring, warming us, Estrella murmured that _marriage is a rooted thing, a growing and flowering thing that must be tended faithfully…Daily watering with the little gracious acts we all welcome, with mutual concern for the other's contentment, with self-watchfulness here and self-forgetfulness there, brings forth ever new blossoms_.

Therein is how the love between William Turner and I came to be. The lovely, sunshine daisy, with its new white petals, delighted with the friendship, and even more so delighted with feelings of love; it cries as its heart is torn and confused; it blooms to its fullest extent as all worldly aspirations are fulfilled.

Only William Turner could cause me to bloom so fully to the person I now am, as I lose a petal one day, and gain ten more the next as I drink in daily showers of love. He, as well as I, know that our friendship will forever be everlasting as our passion continues to grow.

* * *

-Marriage quote credited to: Donald Culross Peattie 


	7. Light & Darkness

Rose Petals in a Bowl:

Light & Darkness

* * *

Moments. There are moments so precious, so fantastic. Moments that can scarcely be described at all…so light and gentle and subtle, like a warm, flickering candle that never goes out; like a snowflake that falls on your glove and lingers so long as to see its shape before it disappears; a hummingbird which flutters past so quickly, yet slow enough that the pace of it's colorful, rapid wings can be discerned. Beautiful, enchanting moments as this—such are these moments I speak of: tastes of pure bliss that overwhelm the soul with undying ecstasy. And such moments I hereupon refer to that occur at rather fleeting and unexpected moments in one's life…yet more than often do they occur in mine. I indeed have implied this all before, but must emphasize it, for 'tis true even in times of utter fear and darkness.

'T'was a customary morning, I had presumed, as the day previous had been calm and sunlit. Conversely, the day was quite changed. Amethyst rain gently knocked against the glass window, arousing me from my slumbers. With brows furrowed, I tiptoed towards the pane, studying the wetness in mystification, and suddenly experiencing a chill. With my thin slip offering not a hint of warmth, I drew my hands towards my arms to rub them, but ceased when a different pair of hands reached there first.

I turned abruptly to face a very handsome gentleman clad in polished, buckled boots and coat, and dark locks pulled back to reveal a softly smiling visage.

'_I thought it best to bid you farewell before heading off', _he spoke softly, pressing his lips faintly against my cheek. Placing my hands upon my hips, and having newly become worried, I uttered in response,

'_Will Turner, please do not tell me you're walking to work in the rain!'_

And that fiend—he smirked at me, that gentle, taunting, teasing smirk as he muttered indiscernible murmurings in an attempt to console me. So sure of himself he is, believing that I am merely filled with superfluous concern—"motherly concern", as he terms it.

I scoffed and rebuked him, resisting his banter, and harshly warning that if he returned home with some ailment, he must have to take care of himself, for it would be his own pride that caused it. Of course, I was not truly serious—certainly I would care for him; most likely, he knew so, for he failed to conceal his mirth at my words and haughty expression. Against my will, as I was still pestered, he kissed me and then departed, and I could hear his quiet laughter. I refused to follow him, and remained rooted to my spot near the bedroom window until I heard the door close at his leave.

Like a bird, I flew to that door, peering anxiously through that window to see him tread through the rather heavy rainfall. I fretted, for I noticed Will had neither gloves nor hat, and the rain became harder still.

Realizing the draftiness _I_ felt, I returned to the room and dressed in much warmer garments, and thereafter commenced reading a fabulous novel. Though as I began, there happened the most miraculous occurrence—the words swiftly swirled about in my mind, and I beheld _William Turner_ and _rain _over and over again, page after page. The _William Turner_'s consumed my attention quite rapidly, and instantly captivated me, yet the _rain_'s nigh frightened me, and I wished for them to disappear, for there to be new material, but they persisted to the point where I startled, and pushed the book from my lap. So surprised I was at my own actions, that I just looked at the tossed book, intending then to retrieve it.

However, I recoiled back at a clap of thunder; thereupon I was seriously considering the stability of my mind. To become terrified at rain!

Yet I grew further vexed and troubled, and with good reason. Oh, how dark was the sky, how blurred and muddied were the streets from wetness and moist miasma. Chewing at my nails, I became only impatient, and without thought, I was plummeted through the front door, and into the blinding, freezing torrent.

Oh, God—I knew not what was rushing through my mind expect fear and determination. How bitter it was, the frosty drops beating against my skin! But I thought not of myself, only of Will.

'_How can he bear it?'_

Thus, I blindly made my way towards his shop; blindly, to be sure, with the fog shrouding me in gloomy darkness. Certainly, it did not catch my fall as I slipped in the rocks and mud—marks from such falls later shown themselves as mottled bruises and crimson slashes.

My breath catches fearfully in my throat now as I vividly recall—I was completely petrified; reduced to feebly calling out my beloved's name in hopes that he would someway hear me, and that he was safe, not in the midst of this terrifying abyss, as I…

For hours, hours it seemed, I was waiting, collapsed in the downpour, writhing in hopelessness and pain….my garments clinging; everything burning, tingling…I could taste not only the rainwater, but the pungent saltiness of my tears. Though I reached out, I could not touch, I could not feel; nothing but the looming obscurity.

'_I'm frightened! _

Senseless, thoughtless—ruthless cold! Heavens, how did I survive?

Sobs rack my body at the thought of what could have—oh, what would have happened!

'_I've lost him!'_

Sinking into oblivion…with the sharp stings of water bearing me down; the ground, a bottomless void to which I was dragged; painful sounds coming from all directions; terribly overpowered and morose, frantically perturbed. And feeling…feeling _death_ around me…

Echoes, echoes of _'Will'_ pounded through my soul.

And of sudden, I was pulled, pulled more forcefully. I could not resist against the pressure—I was blind to all, except the importunate reverberations of my name.

Still I could not…I could not discern the producer of the name:

"_Elizabeth, Elizabeth!'_

Stronger and stronger, yet trembling and heaving with effort. Everything was a blur—I thought I had tumbled down into an inescapable chasm.

Yet I suddenly became aware of a familiar closeness that penetrated the void in which I was trapped.

'_Oh, God, Elizabeth—hear me!' _a ragged, desperate voice shattered the enclosing glass that kept me from reality. And thence my vision only blurred once again as I was able to open my eyes—blurred with tears as I realized it was Will who held me so close! He was there, alive, and so was I.

He soundly enveloped me, both of us trembling, all remaining in my memory of that moment being that I was warm in his arms.

He desired to bring me towards the fire, but I fiercely drew back to his chest, for the fear of breaking apart from him was still very alive in my mind.

Ensuing, perhaps hours afterwards, whence the cold had worn off, along with the horror, I remained nestled in Will's strong, unyielding embrace as he revealed with slight anger in his tone, that he had thought that he had lost me. I admitted the same.

'_How could you, Elizabeth? What were you thinking?'_

The anger in his voice startled me and I recoiled, just as I had from the thunder, for in my state of recovering shock, his voice seemed equally thunderous.

He abruptly softened, and I noticed the apologetic concern in his gaze. He murmured my name softly, lovingly, but at the touch of his lips on my skin, I shuddered. How scared I was, even in safety. Will quickly drew back, emitting a heartbreaking sigh.

'_Elizabeth, please…I'm sorry. This never would have happened if….'_

He let out another tremulous sigh, though continued. My fearfulness not only at what happened, but what I had done to Will, only increased.

'…_If I had not have ridiculed you...'_

I finally, upon hearing these words, turned around to look at him. How I wanted to bury myself in his arms, to comfort him, as he had wished to comfort me!

I cast my eyes down, for tears threatened to leak.

'_No, Will, I was reckless. I nearly killed myself. If you hadn't found me…'_

He gently hushed me and held me once more.

'_This will never happen again, never!' _he murmured indignantly. _'I love you too much to allow it to happen!'_

'_I love you.'_

I whispered the response back to him.

He studied my eyes, and tentatively met my lips with his own, intending to pull back in wariness of my condition, but I welcomed the affection.

'_I was afraid…that I would never see you again.'_

'_Oh, my darling',_ he whispered, and we kissed, a kiss passionately filled with the adoration we held for one another, with the need we felt for one another.

And even through the crack of thunder and pelting of rain, I was not afraid, because I was safe in the sanctuary of my husband.

The tears, the apologies mattered not—only the promises we gave each other: the promise of shedding light in darkness, of bringing hope to despair, of drawing closer, not farther.

* * *

In my attempts to apologize yet again for my rashness, he hinders and thwarts me, drawing me in with frantic caresses, as if endeavoring to wear off some cold. The night lingers, ominous; thus it seems that day was doomed from the very start. In a numb state we both remained for a while thereafter. Though the subject is never nowadays spoken of, there is a moment, a very subtle instance of understanding. A firm touch accompanied with a look a fervent compassion. It is ephemeral, nevertheless beautiful and enchanting, a moment that overwhelms the soul with undying ecstasy, as the darkness held in that fluttering gaze is overpowered by the light—the light between us that radiates brilliantly, holding the promise in a compassionate, unwavering gaze.

* * *


	8. A Cove

Rose Petals in a Bowl:

A Cove

A/N: Yes, I finally decided to update this little story. I hope you find it satisfying :)

I remember sailing about the cove when my daughter was born. Sunset, the skies rosy and golden, the waters glittering with the brilliancy of crystalline cerulean. My husband sat at the helm, the rays of the sun caressing his body in their slow descent into the horizon. Tan and devastatingly handsome in the enigmatic lighting, he turned towards me and beamed, his dark eyes gleaming, his dark locks loose and fluttering about his face. I smiled, adjusting my position slightly to accommodate my distended abdomen. I garmented myself in the loosest gossamer shift I owned, draped over with a cotton robe. Despite the billowing characteristic of these vestments, nothing could conceal the breadth of my middle, the fact that I was heavy with child. Yet I had no wish to conceal it, no. For there were no preying eyes, no scathing remarks, not in our beautiful secluded spot above the docks, overlooking the small beach. No one existed in our world; we were the only two beings. My husband gazed at me with eyes foretelling of naught but love. In the days of my pregnancy, the gazes are more frequent, as if he is astonished by the miracle growing within me. It had been nine months since our clandestine escape from Port Royal to the French seaside, courtesy of one Captain Jack Sparrow, and there was I, reposing in a modest sailing boat, nine months pregnant. I couldn't be more relieved, more ecstatic; for once our lives were starting, truly, according to plan.

As my husband steered around a grouping of rocks, the wind picked up and the boat rocked slightly. His hand was steady; he was incredibly agile. I drew my hands across my abdomen, feeling a slight discomfort, though I attempted not to show this in my face, not wanting to ruin the quiet perfection of the atmosphere. My husband ceaselessly fusses over me, and I love him for it, but on occasion, I wish for him to let things be. To let the moment last forever, this quiet and blissful serenity never interrupted.

Just as soon as my hands reached the bump, I saw and felt his hand upon my knee.

I raised my eyes to his, full of gentle concern.

_'Are you alright?' _he questioned.

I sighed. _'Yes, of course, I'm alright.'_ I lay my hand atop his.

He continued to look at me with concern, and nervously eyed my middle. He had not wanted to go out on the boat. It was too dangerous, me so heavy with child. I insisted. The night was utterly perfect, fulfilling one of my long-lived fantasies of stealing away on a boat on a warm and breezy evening, my lover guiding us to a secret, beautiful place where we whispered softly and made love through the night.

I blush to think of it now, but in that state of hormonal imbalance (that is what I shall blame it on) I bared this fantasy to my husband as he continued to deny me the pleasure, gathering the venture would be completely unsafe. Upon my outburst, however (through which I emphatically described the fantasy with tears in my eyes), he agreed with a laugh and a kiss to my lips. This was perhaps out of pity, to humour me. Nonetheless, I have no complaints, and there I sat in a boat at sunset, my lover guiding the vessel. My fantasy was being fulfilled.

There was one detail I had not counted on, brought to my immediate attention as the discomfort fluttered within me once more, and my husband stilled the boat, leaning close towards me. He placed one hand softly upon my abdomen, the other reaching up to brush against my cheek.

_'Are you sure you're alright, my love?' _he asked softly, his soulful eyes bearing into mine so dreadfully that I had a strong desire to cry and kiss him simultaneously.

_'Yes,'_ I whispered. '_This little one is rambunctious tonight.'_

He smiled and soothed both of his hands over my stomach, eyes lighting as he felt movement. I cringed upon feeling a twinge of discomfort.

_'Will,' _I called, the word leaving my lips as a pained whimper. As he looked into my eyes, all I wanted was to kiss him. I leaned forward, but the increasing discomfort and awkwardness of my stomach prevented me from such movement. I moaned and unhappy tears pricked my eyes.

_'Darling, what is it?'_

_'Come here,' I whined. 'I can't…'_

Noticing my distress, he instantly drew near, and I had naught but drawn a breath when he kissed me, capturing my lips softly with his own, and the feeling was rapturous, and the moment could have lasted forever, his lips fervently pressed against mine, but he pulled back when I groaned. I was in pain, I could feel the baby inside of me, it was going to come, and tears leaked from my eyes because I wanted to kiss him still. For just this moment, to banish the pain and the baby so I could live my fantasy uninterrupted.

_'Elizabeth!' _he exclaimed, his countenance filled with worry and his eyes widened in disbelief as water pooled beneath me. _'Elizabeth, we must get you to a doctor. I knew this was a bad idea.' _His face was dark and full of disapproval against my whims.

A wave of pain rushed through me and I let out a cry. _'No, Will, there's no time! It's coming!'_

He glanced at me as I emitted another cry and began steering towards the shore, but we had sailed far off. I slumped, clenching my hands as the pain increased.

_'Elizabeth…' _

I heard him say my name, though nothing else as the pain and the feeling of the baby overwhelmed me, the sun setting, the jolt of the boat and Will gathering me into his arms, supporting me as he led me to a shaded sandy spot and I collapsed onto his coat.

Through the haze I saw him, his figure shadowed as the daylight cascaded into evening. He knelt at my feet, divesting himself of his shirt and laying it aside along with his long waist scarf.

_'Will,' _I attempted to whisper, though no sound escaped my lips. He yet came to me and pushed my hair, sticky, from my face, kissing my cheeks.

_'It's alright Elizabeth, my darling. You just have to be strong now for our little one.'_

I nodded, clenching my eyes shut as a spasm assaulted me. _'Oh Will.' _I dug my nails into my palms in an attempt to transfer the pain from my stomach to my hands, but he took my hand in his own and I squeezed hard and he kissed my mouth, quieting my shout as I pushed against the unwavering pressure.

He continued to whisper steady encouragement in my ears, leaving my side at one point to move to my feet where he gathered his torn shirt.

My head was buzzing, my body was aching, and it felt like forever and so many pushes when I finally felt the pain abate and my body went limp, my head thrown back against the cushion of the sand.

'_Oh yes, yes! That's right. Oh my love, oh beautiful!'_

His words reached my ears, and I could hear movement and faint murmurings, though I could not find the strength to lift my head, to open my eyes, until I heard a shrill cry.

Rising weakly, tears came to my eyes as I beheld my husband, my Will, cradling a small whimpering bundle in his arms. Seeing me alert, he came to my side and brought the bundle to my chest. A beautiful pink baby, wrapped snugly in Will's scarf.

'_Oh my,' _I whispered, hugging my baby to me.

'_This is our baby girl,' _he said warmly.

I gasped, peering at her, smiling as she squirmed, and I kissed her nose. Her squinty eyes peered at me. Wisps of golden-brown hair poked out from beneath the hood of the scarf.

'_Oh, my darling beauty,' _I murmured and gazed up at Will. He was beaming, happy and proud and loving. He kissed me softly.

'_I'm so proud of you,' _he whispered. _'Thank you for bringing her into the world.'_

I smiled, loving him, amazed by him, _'I could not have done it without you, my darling love.'_

I had forgotten momentarily that he had seen the delivery of babies before. He had been present when Mr. Brown's wife had given birth. He had also, upon delivery of a sword to Mr. Collins, witnessed the sudden labour of Mr. Collins' daughter, and had been called upon to fetch blankets for her as the maids were not present, having been given a day of leisure.

He shook his head softly, saying, _'You are wonderful'_, as if his levelheadedness during my labour did not count an ounce.

A cry broke us apart. A flash of my eyes seemed to be all that Will needed, and he gently took our babe into his arms as my weak, shaking fingers unfastened the buttons of my chemise, and I drew the sleeves down. I opened my hands for her, and he carefully placed her within them, but murmured, '_Wait.'_

I felt him shift behind me, and then he said gently, _'Try to lift up a bit.'_

I just raised my shoulders from the ground, and I felt his hands about my ribs, lifting up, and with no further effort on my part, I was settled comfortably against his chest, his legs on either side of my own.

'_Oh,' _I said blissfully, and I felt his lips against my hair.

'_Better?' _he whispered.

'_Much,'_ I replied, and sighed again, a sigh of tired happiness as I guided our little girl to my breast. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as she nursed. Will softly stroked my arms.

'_My beautiful darling,' he murmured, and leant to kiss my forehead._

I smiled, treasuring the moment.

'_Darling, I want you to open your eyes.'_

Curious, I did so.

'_Now, look around you.'_

'_Will?' _I questioned, though as I looked at my surroundings, I gasped and realized that we were situated in a beautiful, secluded little cove, sheltered from the wind and the sea's cold mist. The sand was soft and cool and rainbow-coloured shells were embedded into the rock walls. A waterfall pooled from a crevice, creating a shallow pool of water.

'_Oh, how beautiful!' _Tears sprang into my ears again; I was a watery mess as I realized my fantasy had come true. A million times better than a fantasy. For I had not only a lover, but my husband, and our beautiful daughter, the epitome of our love for one another.

I kissed our baby's sweet face and tiny fingers as she drifted into sleep against me, and I snuggled into the protective warmth of my husband, lifting my chin to kiss his lips.

I was so full of love, so content, I believed I would burst with happiness.

'_What shall we name her?'_ he asked after a moment, thoughtful.

I sighed, wondering briefly, and replied with the only name which radiated.

'_Emma.' _I looked down upon her sleeping, angelic form. _'It means whole, universal.'_

I glanced up at him for approval. He was smiling lovingly.

'_It's perfect—Emma,' _he said softly.

'_You both are my entire world, and at this moment, I could not feel more whole, more complete,' _I admitted, feeling that sense of dizzying rapture, so much stronger than ever before as I held our daughter close and melted into blissful oblivion as my husband's lips touched mine.

I remember sailing about the cove when my daughter was born. I have never experienced anything more beautiful—the glossy blue waters, the mauve-gold sky, my husband, bringing life into the world within a cove. My fantasies always seem to come true. My darling, darling Emma, my whole universe, the little girl with dark lustrous eyes and unruly golden hair, a little angel, a little bit of Will and myself. She wants to take journeys upon the open sea, she wants to explore and find secret caves full of treasure. Who am I to deny her such pleasures? With a reminiscent smile, my husband acquiesces to her whims.


End file.
